


Heat of the moment

by Ibbyliv



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Cuddles, Enjolras walks in his room to find out that R has invaded in his bed, Fluff, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Realizations, Sickfic, huge brot3 hug piles, pining!jolras, texts, that was a tag why was that even a tag?, that's it that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-03
Updated: 2013-09-03
Packaged: 2017-12-25 12:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibbyliv/pseuds/Ibbyliv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>I swear I will sneeze on everything you  l o v e !</em> </p><p>The heater in Grantaire's apartment is broken and, already being sick with a cold, his friends decide to help him confiscate Enjolras' bed for his own.</p><p>Neither Enjolras nor Grantaire is aware of the fact.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heat of the moment

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the gorgeous song "Heat of the moment" from Asia.  
> I know there are a lot of sick!R comfort fics out there, but I felt bad for the lack of Jehan/Eponine/R brot3 in them (I just love those three) and I needed to infect the poor fandom with another ridiculous piece of my pointless fluff. Forgive me please forgive meeee I did it all for you and all for nothing.  
> Hadley Fraser go the fuck away from my head Blagden is already enough of a threat to my sanity.

# 

_I never meant to be so bad to you_  
 _One thing I said that I would never do_  
 _A look from you and I would fall from grace_  
 _And that would wipe the smile right from my face_

_The heat of the moment telling me what your heart meant..._

_Heat of the moment-Asia_

  
Winter was a season which had never been particularly kind with the Parisians. Snow was not a usual occurrence, but when it happened, the thick snowflakes which covered the streets and the rooftops of Haussmann’s buildings, twirled so elegantly in the sky that one would dare to say they’d been inspired by the charm and personality of the city.

 

Enjolras did not mind some bad weather himself, not in spite of it to stand between him and his work, but he would never ask his friends to put their health at risk if it weren’t for their own will. So when the November rain turned from mild to heavy and thick raindrops started tapping the windows of the café, he and Combeferre gave the others the freedom to leave before it would get worse. Needless to say, no one wanted to go away until they would finish planning the upcoming protest, not even Grantaire, who kept shooting them sarcastic smiles, rocking back and forth on his chair, without really helping with their cause –unless nursing three bottles of beer could be considered as a helpful occupation. Occasionally, his icy blue eyes would turn at the dark, foggy windows and stare at the patterns the rain produced.

 

The temperature was incredibly low and the rain soon became sleet. The Musain was very cozy and warm, smelling of coffee and old books, the heater turned on as Éponine made shots of hot chocolate for everyone (with a little help from Combeferre). However a quarter before midnight, everyone wore their heavy coats and scarves and walked outside, some of  them grumpy, some of them –including Courfeyrac and Bahorel- laughing and splashing in holes full of water, receiving a handful of Combeferre’s exasperated glances behind his spectacles. Some of them took the metro, others were particularly close to their buildings and preferred to walk.

 

Jehan bit his lip worriedly as he walked alongside Grantaire, noticing that his roommate was the only one who had gone outside with nothing but a leather jacket and a green beanie, walking lazily in the rain with his back bent, refusing to use the poet’s orange umbrella with the cat ears and mustache. The man definitely did look grumpy and did not give much attention to the weather; actually the melancholic sound rather suited him.

 

What none of them was expecting when the morning came, though, was him to wake up with a head revolting against him, lungs ready to explode out of his chest, and a river for a nose.

 

Certainly, everyone had sneezed once or twice, Courfeyrac and Enjolras making Combeferre raise an eyebrow suspiciously, Éponine getting the hiccups and managing to curse constantly at the same time, but they all woke up feeling quite healthy. Grantaire, on the other side, having spent a night shivering under his thin blanket in the apartment he shared with Jehan and Feuilly which lacked internal heating, was feeling so miserable that he couldn’t even think of drinking anything alcoholic, even if cognac had been proven to help with the congestion.

 

Feuilly had left for work and Éponine had immediately rushed when a desperate Jehan had called her. The heater had broken and at the moment they had no money to fix it, so the apartment was frozen.

 

“It’s fuckin’ _cold_ ,” she yelled through the pile of the three of them pressed together on the wine stained couch, trying to keep the heat under every blanket they had found.

 

“I wouldn’t mind so much myself, but it definitely is so bad for Grantaire to be here,” said Jehan through chattering teeth. Grantaire didn’t have the strength to reply, his eyes were shut in a pained expression as a violent cough shook his body. That obliged Éponine to take the thermometer he had in his mouth, in her hand and flinch at the sign of his temperature. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and rubbed his back, nuzzling her nose at his collarbone, a sheen of cold sweat visible there.

 

“Poor dear,” sighed Jehan, pressing a kiss on his cheek. “You’re burning up!”

 

“’m fine, Jehan…” croaked Grantaire through his scratching throat.

 

“That’s not fine!” protested Éponine. “That temperature would only be _fine_ if you were in the E/R with tubes connected in every exposed inch of your skin!”

 

“Exaggerating…” snorted Grantaire between sniffles and failed attempts to clear his throat.

 

Just then, the doorbell rang. Jehan swore under his breath for the fact that he had to abandon the faint warmth the three of them were sharing under the blankets and rush to the door, his fluffy, mismatched bright yellow and Quidditch printed socks producing a muffled thumping on the floor. The sloppy, noisy kisses which could be heard even from the couch and earned disgusted looks both from Grantaire and Éponine, undoubtedly indicated Courfeyrac’s presence.

 

The two lovebirds entered the living room. Jehan’s taste in clothes was having an obvious effect to Courfeyrac after they started going out. The bright red of his polka dot bowtie and braces was clashing dangerously with his indigo blue chinos, and only Enjolras could have been proud, as he bore a scary resemblance to the French tricolor.

 

“Grantaire, don’t die today! I need you to pick the liquor for my birthday party next week!” cried Courfeyrac affectionately, coming to crush on the other side of the sofa, on the human pile under the blankets. “Man, this flat is _freezing_!” he shuddered.

 

“Our heater broke,” muttered Grantaire wearily.

 

“Don’t tease him Courf, he’s very sick,” Jehan’s serious frown made him resemble Combeferre dangerously.

 

“Hey R,” Courfeyrac nudged his ribs gently, his voice having been softened, “I have the car with me, I have time to drop you to the doctors before going to class.”

 

“The stubborn little shit won’t let us take him to a doctor,” snorted Éponine, throwing herself up unwillingly and running around during the quest of finding her muddy boots, in order to warm herself a little bit.

 

“Man that’s unwise, don’t let Joly know!” whistled Courfeyrac, “you’re hot as fuck –well, not as hot as _me_ of course-, you should probably get some medicine!” He winked, “unless you have found some _better_ kind of pills, or something…”

 

“If you three keep fretting so much I swear I will sneeze on _everything you love,_ ” growled Grantaire hoarsely, after stopping to cough. “Seriously, I’ve been through worse, I’ll survive.”

 

“I have to go,” groaned Éponine, “I’m already late and I’ve promised Gavroche we’ll spend the day together after work, I already hate the fact that he spends most of his time with Montparnasse. But I feel so bad for leaving you here, you bastard!” She leaned forward and placed a hurried kiss on his clammy, hot forehead. “If at least I knew you’d be somewhere warm instead of this shithole…”

 

“Hey!” exclaimed Courfeyrac enthusiastically, “R, why don’t you come to stay at our apartment? We all have classes and Combeferre has a shift at the hospital, no one will bother you! It is a furnace compared to this fuckin’ North Pole!”

 

Jehan’s face lit up. “That will make me feel much better! But…” his features darkened again. “Will he be there all alone? What if something happens to him?”

 

“Will you stop talking about me as if I’m not in the fuckin’ room?” shouted Grantaire, his body shivering violently. “Any place where I won’t become an ice cube is relatively better than here!” He turned to Courfeyrac. “I don’t want to become a burden…” he muttered.

 

“Nonsense!” Courfeyrac waved his hand. “As long as you promise not to infect my new heart-shaped sunnies…”

 

Éponine took her phone out of her pocket and started typing frantically.

 

  


 

“Man, I feel betrayed by Combeferre!” moaned Courfeyrac, hearing the constant beeping of the phone as texts arrived. “He never replies so fast to _me_!”

 

Éponine ignored him. “See? Combeferre doesn’t mind!” she smiled triumphantly. “You won’t be a burden! Courfeyrac, will you give him a ride?”

 

The man shrugged his shoulders, giving Grantaire a teasing look while running his fingertips seductively over the blanket. “Sure!”

 

“Good, now I’ve really got to leave! Cheers and try not to puke on Combeferre’s books, he’s too good to die, unlike the rest of you shitheads!”

 

Éponine rushed out of the room, her heavy boots thumping violently on the floor. “Fuckin’ artists and your fuckin’ sense of tidying up!” they heard her growling after accidentally stepping on an empty beer bottle and nearly collapsing on a bucket full of turquoise paint. Courfeyrac whistled. “Charming.”

 

“Speaks the one whose knickers can be found in the fridge!” shouted Grantaire teasingly, resulting to another coughing fit which shook his body. They heard the door, a sign that Éponine had left, and Jehan hushed Grantaire, rubbing his back soothingly. When the man’s breath stopped hitching and panting, the poet got up and returned with a coat and a pair of boots. He helped him get dressed with Courfeyrac, noticing with guilt how unsteady he was. “I’m so sorry I can’t stay with you today,” said Jehan in a genuinely worried voice. “Will you be alright?”

 

Courfeyrac ruffled Grantaire’s wild dark curls playfully. “He will be fine, he’ll sleep it off, plus I have an excellent liquor stash at home!”

 

Grantaire nodded, emphasizing that he _would_ survive, though grimacing oddly at the thought of going near anything alcoholic with that throbbing head of his which was ready to explode.

 

“Don’t hesitate calling me at the café if you need anything,” smiled Jehan encouragingly, handing Grantaire two pills of medicine before braiding his smooth, ginger locks in a bun and standing up to get ready for work. “Drive safe,” he muttered sweetly at Courfeyrac, and Grantaire rolled his eyes painfully as they shared a rather _affectionate_ kiss in front of him.

 

Courfeyrac was indeed a safe driver, but an extremely talkative one as well. Grantaire pressed his aching forehead against the cold window of the car, and soon his friend’s voice became a distant buzz in his dizzy head.

 

When Courfeyrac pulled the brake in front of the building, Grantaire was feeling too feverish and worn to even get out of the car and in the elevator on his own. His friend helped him walk shakily, wrapping him in his pea coat and got him in the empty apartment, which felt wonderfully warm and welcoming after their sleazy, freezing living room.

 

“Will you be alright?” muttered Courfeyrac, leading him to a bed and helping him out of his boots before tucking him under the covers. Grantaire nodded; a very bad idea, as his head revolted against him and his body was shaken with cough. “There’s medicine in the bathroom cupboard. I have to go now, don’t hesitate to call me or ‘Ferre if you need anything, okay?”

 

After thanking Courfeyrac gratefully for the massive gift of internal heating, Grantaire curled his aching, shivering muscles underneath the warm, heavy duvet. Before his eyes fell shut, he noticed a mischievous smile on Courfeyrac’s face as the man left the room, and immediately decided he was deliriously imagining things from the fever.

His head was pounding and his throat was incredibly sore, but the warmth was so welcome and the mattress so soft compared to his own patched one that he drifted in unconsciousness before managing to faintly wonder to whom that bed belonged.

 

*

Enjolras was a restless, active man, but sometimes he appreciated the peace and quiet his flat offered him, especially when Courfeyrac was away. Combeferre hardly ever annoyed him, his company was more than welcome while they worked together.

 

When he returned from his classes early, he expected to find a deserted, empty apartment. He even expected the possibility to find that Courfeyrac had skipped his lessons and was snogging Jehan on their cream leather couch. The last thing he expected to find, however, was a bundle under the duvets of his own _bed._

 

A human bundle. With black tufts of hair peeking outside, spread upon his pillow.

 

A _Grantaire_ bundle.

 

His breath hitched on his throat and he shut his eyes tightly and reopened them, assuming these were probably the effects of caffeine overdose Joly had warned him about. Nothing. The Grantaire bundle was still on his bed, rising and falling with every heaving, deep breath which sounded wrong, very wrong indeed.

 

He knew that the cynical man had no limits when it came to mocking him and driving him furious, but he would never have believed that he could reach _such_ a point of ridiculousness. _Honestly?_ Robbing his flat and pretending to have fallen asleep on his fuckin’ _bed_? He didn’t know what kind of sick, tasteless prank this was and the extent of Courfeyrac or Bahorel’s contribution to the idea, but he was getting Grantaire out of his bed and his apartment. Right _now._

It was enough, really, the things Grantaire had done to him. In the beginning he was convinced that they both hated each other. Now he mostly leaned towards the possibility of Grantaire simply finding immense pleasure to driving him out of his mind.

 

As for him, _of course_ he hated Grantaire… in a way. He hated how these icy blue eyes got fixed on him during his speeches, aiming to distracting him because _why were people allowed to have eyes that were so fuckin’_ blue? And he hated when the man pretended to be listening because he _knew_ he couldn’t be listening but then again how could he respond so easily to his arguments? He hated how he turned up in the café in that tight fitting maroon shirt and those skinny black jeans, he hated his sarcastic smirks and that day he had brought his guitar and sang and everyone else sat around him mesmerized while he didn’t know what to do…

 

No, Enjolras didn’t hate Grantaire, he just wished he would be left alone, that his mind would find some peace at last, and walking into his room to find the man curled in his bed definitely didn’t help the situation.

 

But then his chest clenched uncomfortably at the thought that maybe Grantaire wasn’t fake sleeping after all. Maybe he was pissed drunk, Enjolras thought with disgust. Maybe he would find vomit all over the bathroom.

 

Maybe he was poisoned form opposite organizations.

 

He was ready to shout something on terms of _What the fuck are you doing in my bed?_ but at first he took a seat near it and poked Grantaire’s shoulder with his index finger. The man did not stir. His face was shining with a thin layer of sweat and his eyes with the thick lashes were shut tightly as if he was in pain. His complexion had a yellowish shade which terrified Enjolras, and caused him to slide his hand carefully underneath the duvet, pressing his fingers on Grantaire’s wrist in order to find out if something really hazardous had happened to him.

 

He felt slightly relieved when he felt Grantaire’s blood pounding, his pulse fast but steady, and he noticed the unusual warmth of his skin. Feeling slightly worried again, he moved his hand on the man’s forehead, brushing a few wild, dark curls away. His skin was burning and the temperature made him flinch in horror. Just then he saw the man stirring, before he was shaken by a coughing fit. “I’m sorry…” he managed to mutter hoarsely between his cough.

 

“No,” said Enjolras boldly, bewilderedly staring at the incoherent mess Grantaire was in, pressing his hands on his chest in order to push him back in bed. “Stay here, sleep.”

 

Instead of calming the man, Enjolras’ words caused him to jump up, unable to stop coughing, and try to spit a mayhem of words. “Shit… I’m sorry, Apollo. Didn’t know it was your bed… Courfeyrac… Fuck, I’m leaving, I’m sorry!”

 

He was in the process of pushing his feet out of bed and standing up, searching frantically for his shoes. His blue eyes were glowing with the fever and his cheeks had flushed violently both with shame and delirium. Enjolras wrapped his arms tightly around him and pulled him back in bed, rubbing his back awkwardly until he’d stopped coughing, and then, pinned him breathless on the pillows. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he hissed. “You are sick!”

 

Grantaire’s apology was more coherent now. “I know, I’m sorry, the heater in our apartment broke and the others were worried and Courfeyrac and Combeferre told me to come here where it’s warm so that I wouldn’t get worse…”

 

Enjolras hushed him, the grip of his fingers tightening around the man’s shoulder. Grantaire was notorious for his rambling habit, but now it was a total delirium. “You don’t need to apologize. God, you could have simply told me before, that you have no heating! Jehan and Feuilly need to come and stay here as well, we have the couch…”

 

“No, I’m fine now, thank you for letting me sleep in your bed which I didn’t know that was your bed, I appreciate it, I can go now!”

 

“For fuck’s sake, Grantaire,” snapped Enjolras. “Just lie down!”

 

“I can’t… I don’t want to be a burden.”

 

Enjolras sighed, feelings of guilt stabbing him on the inside. Everything made sense now. Grantaire never believed in their cause. Combeferre had offered to drive everyone who wanted to go back safely home last night. He had stayed, he had stayed in the Musain until they finished their work and then walked in the storm with nothing but a leather jacket…

 

“R, listen to me,” he heard his own voice softening and that was not good, it was not good at all but he needed to help the feverish man calm down. “You’re not a burden. I want you to stay here today, alright?” he realized that he could hardly control his words. “I mean… it will only make me feel bad if you return in a freezing apartment when you have a fever and you sound like that… You don’t want to make me feel worse than I already do for leaving you three freeze to death, do you?”

 

There was a pregnant pause where Enjolras could hear Grantaire’s panting and feel his erratic heartbeat underneath his palm. Finally Grantaire shook his curly head, morphing at the pain that caused him. “Thank you, Grantaire,” muttered Enjolras in an increasingly sarcastic tone, “now will you wait for me to find some aspirin or will you run away barefoot and delirious in the rain while I’m in the bathroom?”

 

“’ll be good,” he snorted, making his aching muscles more comfortable on the pillows. Enjolras soon returned with a thermometer, a box of tissues and two pills. Grantaire allowed him to take his temperature, terribly ashamed of all the fuss made for him, but also touched and startled at the unusual interest of the revolutionary. “Why did you stay last night?” he sighed after reading the sign of the thermometer. “You don’t even believe in anything we do. You could have returned home before it was too late.”

 

Grantaire chuckled, deciding to try his best to get away from answering honestly, yet somehow failing. “The Musain was much warmer than my apartment would be. Besides, I would never leave in the middle of the meeting. What if I got bored and didn’t have who to laugh at? What if you needed me?”

 

Enjolras handed him the pills and a glass of water. He wanted to sound –and feel- much more pissed off, but Grantaire -who was now blowing his nose in a tissue noisily- made it really difficult. He didn’t even think of the times they _had_ actually needed him and the man had let them down. “Why are you so fuckin’ stubborn? Don’t you care for yourself at all?”

 

Grantaire snorted and it resulted to a wild sneeze. “Quite hypocritical when it comes from the man who hasn’t slept since… when was the last time you got some sleep, Enjolras?”

 

Enjolras’ pale cheeks flushed faintly. “This isn’t about me. I’m different.”

 

“Oh, right,” croaked Grantaire. “I almost forgot. You are a God. Sleep is for humble, mortal human beings.”

 

“Yeah, very funny,” sighed Enjolras. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he admitted, and it sounded wrong in so many ways… “I mean… I’m so bad at taking care of sick people. You probably need some medicine.” He was mostly talking to himself than to Grantaire right now. “I could finish my essay in the evening and take you to the doctors now… Courfeyrac has taken the car but we could take a taxi…”

 

Grantaire groaned. “Calm down, alright? Go and plan how to overthrow a government or two. Combeferre will be here anyway after he finishes his shift.”

At the sound of his friend’s name, Enjolras felt slightly better. “If only I had some cough syrup…”

 

“Makes me dopey as shit anyway…” he murmured hoarsely. “Just sit down, you caffeine stoned energetic person.” His voice was almost tender and Enjolras turned to stare at him, blue, glowing eyes, dark circles underneath them and a nest of messy curls upon the pillow.

 

Enjolras considered the possibility for a while, but being around Grantaire, especially when he was weary and flushed like that, distracted him terribly.

 

“You surely have something better to do than sit here and watch if I’m still alive, don’t you?” muttered Grantaire, “I mean, you’re not getting rid of me so easily. Go on, return to your noble revolutionary deeds. I’ll be fine.”

 

There was a moment of silence and Enjolras threw himself up. Grantaire decided to feel disappointed as he thought that the man had seen sense in his words, but apparently it didn’t last for long. “You need to eat something but I don’t think I could provide you with anything else apart from tuna cans, coffee beans, gummy bears and maybe some Roquefort.”

 

Grantaire scrunched up his face. “My throat is too sore to eat, besides it would be a pity to survive such a deathly cold and have you poison me in cold blood, wouldn’t it?”

 

Enjolras thought for a while, “then wait here. Try not to choke yourself to death.”

 

Grantaire just smirked and replied with some coughing as the other man disappeared in the kitchen, returning soon after that with two steamy mugs in his hands. He handed him one and took a seat on his bedside.

 

“Thanks,” croaked Grantaire, staring at the tempting hot tea. “Are you sure this won’t poison me?”

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes and took a sip of his own tea in order to give the example, grimacing at the taste. “I’m no Combeferre or Musichetta when it comes to making beverages, I’m sorry.”

 

Grantaire just chuckled. “You’re too good with me, Apollo. I don’t deserve it.”

 

He brought the porcelain to his lips and took a sip, trying not to grimace himself. The warmth of the badly brewed water with a distant taste of tea was at least soothing for his throat.

 

Enjolras immediately felt bad when he heard his words, even though the tone was light and teasing. “You deserve more than you think you do, R. If only you let yourself believe it…”

 

“Not that conversation again,” he moaned, resting his back on the pillows. “I don’t think I can handle it.”

 

Grantaire looked positively miserable and suddenly all Enjolras wanted to do was wrap his arms around him and hold him, make him feel better in any way. Before he control his actions and stop himself, he had thrown himself up again and rushed to the bathroom.

 

Grantaire’s head was throbbing violently and the room was spinning around him. He felt like dozing off and he shivered, curling further under the covers. Enjolras returned soon and found him with his eyes shut in a pained expression, breathing congestedly through half parted, chapped lips.

 

Somewhere between consciousness and unconsciousness, the sick man felt something wet and soothingly cool being pressed on his forehead. He tried to hold back a sigh of bliss but in vain, and opened his eyes, meeting with Enjolras’ warm, worried glance above him as the man was brushing a damp cloth against his burning skin, relieving him from the fever. “Why are you doing this?” he asked faintly. “You don’t have to.”

 

Enjolras didn’t reply for a while, and the silence convinced Grantaire that he was dreaming. “Yes, but I want to,” he finally breathed, sending a warm wave of air on Grantaire’s face. He was so close to him and he was more beautiful than Grantaire had ever seen him or captured him on paper; or maybe Grantaire was just delirious. The halo of golden ringlets surrounding his pale face made him look like an angel and Grantaire smiled serenely at the thought. Everything seemed much more normal when he was driven by a high temperature, and Enjolras already ceased to ever leave Grantaire’s mind.

 

“Thank you, Apollo,” he whispered with a blissful smile.

 

Enjolras sighed and pulled back, as Grantaire seemed to doze off, drifting in dreams of the man he loved and today seemed not only to accept him, but to deeply care for him. The bed was warm, as were Enjolras’ fingertips, which brushed softly across his cheekbone.

 

It was a coughing fit which woke Grantaire up, making him feel like his lungs were about to burst out of his body. Strong arms were soon wrapped around him, helping him sit up and rubbing his back soothingly. He was certain that he was delirious again; it was too much for a gorgeous Greek God to be holding him, but Combeferre who was sitting on the edge of his bed looking concerned behind his spectacles, seemed way too real. “How do you feel?” he asked sympathetically, in his warm, kind voice, which made everyone feel at ease.

 

“Brilliant,” he croaked, “just you know, regular stuff. A riot going on in my throat instead of the Arc de Triomphe, Napoleon’s elephant having a party in my head…”

 

Enjolras took the opportunity to surprise him, slipping the thermometer under his tongue as Combeferre took a seat near him, pressing his fingers on his neck. Dry cough came to shake his body, and Combeferre took the thermometer in his fingers, frowning behind his spectacles. “Your glands are swollen and I’m quite certain that your temperature would make Joly call for a priest.” He turned to Enjolras, “Did he take anything for it?” The blond man nodded apologetically. “All I could find in the bathroom drawer.”

 

Combeferre nodded and returned to Grantaire, stroking his sweaty forehead gently with the back of his hand, before bending forward and digging in his leather medical bag. Enjolras watched with vivid interest mixed with concern, as Combeferre pulled out a stethoscope, causing Grantaire to groan stubbornly at the sight of it. “Come on,” said the bespectacled man soothingly, “I just don’t like the sound of that cough at all. It’s probably just a cold, but we can’t let it develop to anything more serious!”

 

Grantaire noticed Enjolras and Combeferre’s glances meeting, and he couldn’t help feeling slightly jealous for the way the two of them always seemed to communicate perfectly without speaking. _Damn_ Combeferre and his observational skills, Grantaire was _certain_ that the man knew about how he felt for his best friend…

 

The medical student reached to lower the duvet, hushing him reassuringly when he let a small whimper, shivering in his grey hoodie, which Combeferre, much to his utter horror, raised up to his shoulders, revealing his faintly tanned torso.

 

Enjolras’ breath hitched and he did his best to maintain calm while his best friend pressed the cold end of the stethoscope on Grantaire’s chest, immediately deciding that if he ever became Prime Minister –which he absolutely wouldn’t, as he was fundamentally opposed to the idea of holding any kind of authority instead of being completely equal to the people- he would make boxing illegal. Not only was it a rather violent sport –in his opinion-, but a member of his organization –excluding Bahorel, they needed Bahorel’s skills-, shouldn’t not be allowed to possess such a toned set of abdominal muscles, such defined arms, and a sharp V formed by his hipbones.

 

Combeferre moved the stethoscope around, frowning in concentration, as Grantaire’s chest rose and fell rhythmically. After what seemed like ages, he pulled it off his ears, covering Grantaire with his hoodie again, allowing him to cradle on the duvet and curl against the pillows. Even when he drunk himself to oblivion, Grantaire hardly ever looked so weak and vulnerable, and Enjolras felt his insides tightening again with a mixture guilt and pity. He cleared his throat, realizing that his palms were getting uncomfortably clammy as he expected his friend to speak. “Well?”

 

Combeferre chuckled and patted his best friend’s shoulder. “He’ll probably survive, don’t worry. Just a nasty cold. I will call Courfeyrac and tell him which medicine to buy on his way home,” he lowered his eyes to his patient, resting on his elbow on the mattress near Grantaire and scolding him playfully. “Try to go out in such a weather without a coat again and I’ll gut you. And don’t even dream of staying in your apartment before the heater is fixed. Feuilly and Jehan will come here as well.” He raised his eyes. “Right, Enjolras?”

 

Enjolras cleared his throat. “Of… of course.”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m not planning to go anywhere,” smirked Grantaire. “This bed is far too comfortable for me to abandon it so cruelly!”

 

Enjolras narrowed his eyes. “Speaking of which, you have shamelessly confiscated my bed for your own!”

 

Grantaire gave them a small wink as Combeferre ruffled his wild locks. “In fact I was just about to demand my relocation to the sofa. It’s started feeling like a sauna in here.”

 

“That’s good,” smiled Combeferre approvingly. “If you sweat and feel hot, your fever is probably breaking.”

 

Grantaire pulled a big effort to sit up on his sore muscles. “Come on, I’m serious. I need a change of environment.”

 

“Me too,” yawned Combeferre, taking his glasses off and rubbing the tip of his nose. “It was an exhausting day and an afternoon nap sounds rather tempting.” He got up, raising an eyebrow towards Enjolras. “You should try sleeping as well someday, it’s _fun!_ I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

 

“Thank you for everything, Papa,” teased Grantaire.

 

Combeferre stopped at the doorway and turned around cheerfully. “Don’t let Courfeyrac hear you were added in the list of those who claim my paternity! He’d be quite jealous…”

 

Wrapping the blanket around his body, Grantaire finally managed to get up and shakily walk to the living room, as Enjolras supported his weight. He collapsed on the leather couch and Enjolras turned to head to the bathroom but Grantaire’s hand, as if it was a tentacle, reached and gripped on his bright red woollen sweater. “Where do you think you’re going?” he groaned, coughing into the duvet.

 

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “To bring you a pill… Or some tea.”

 

“I’ve already had tea,” said Grantaire. “Stay with me,” he whimpered pleadingly, his pale, tender blue eyes completely breaking Enjolras defences. “I’m cold.”

 

“Fine,” the blond man mumbled, sitting on the couch and sliding under the duvet, even though the room was pleasantly hot, making the horror of Grantaire’s freezing apartment nothing but a distant nightmare. As they curled together, he realized that he had never felt more blissful in his entire life, than now, his body pressed against Enjolras, gold and black locks tangled on the maroon pillows. Enjolras reached for the remote control and turned on the TV, finally settling on Catdog, as he was apparently opposed to everything else playing for various socio-political reasons. The nostalgic decadence of the show he’d never been fond of –he had always been a Pokemon kid, and of course a Disney one as well-, combined with Grantaire’s glowing, half-dozed expression, filled Enjolras’ insides with a warmth he had never dreamed of, and he decided that his essay could wait a bit more.

 

“Apollo?” murmured Grantaire suddenly.

 

“Don’t call me that!” snapped the blond man stubbornly. Grantaire simply cackled. “What is it?”

 

“Nothing,” Grantaire just raised his shoulders teasingly, shuffling a bit under the covers and against the other man’s body. “I just wanted to ask you where is the part where we fight?”

 

Enjolras focused his eyes on the TV, as if Sponge Bob which had appeared now on the screen,was of immense interest to him. “Pretty much around the corner, if you continue using that ridiculous nickname!”

 

“No, because you had me worry that you’re feverish too,” Grantaire’s head leaned closer to Enjolras’ own to the point that their foreheads almost touched. “You haven’t argued with anything I’ve said throughout the _whole day_.” 

 

Enjolras sighed, pressing his forehead closer against the other man’s. Grantaire’s heart skipped a beat as he felt long, delicate fingers reaching for his own under the blanket. “What if I didn’t want to fight today, mouth-breathing ruthless cynic?” A thumb brushed over his knuckles. “What if I just wanted to care for you?”

 

Grantaire smiled faintly, his heart rate growing rather irregular. “Well then, given the consequences, maybe I would try my best to get sick more often. _Apollo._ ”

 

Enjolras just rolled his eyes but didn’t respond; he didn’t need to. He had started feeling tired himself, and suddenly Grantaire’s hoodie looked so soft a surface for his head to rest upon, his scent was oddly familiar and made him feel at ease, as for his body, he was radiating a warmth Enjolras felt thankful for. Thick raindrops could be heard as they fell against the window, lulling them rhythmically, and soon their eyelids grew heavy and their breathing slow, as they fell asleep, curled against each other underneath the blankets.

 

It was Eponine’s texts on Grantaire’s phone which woke them up a few hours later, and the first thing their bleary eyes could see was Courfeyrac, a wide smile on his face and a flashlight.

 

Enjolras decided that it wasn’t worthy to get up and chase him. The heat of the moment was too precious for him to leave it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure whether I'm sorry or regretful.  
> Or not.  
> Thank you for bearing with me being high on sugar.


End file.
